


I've Got My Eye on You

by Syllis



Series: Seek To Mend [6]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-02-15 18:49:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 3,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18675403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syllis/pseuds/Syllis
Summary: Ulfric Stormcloak:Status: Asset (uncooperative), Dormant, Emissary Level Approval.Operational Notes: Direct contact remains a possibility (under extreme circumstances), but in general the asset should be considered dormant. As long as the civil war proceeds in its current indecisive fashion, we should remain hands-off.Justiciar Cyrelian believes that directives... are for other people.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sentiment](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17633201) by [Syllis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syllis/pseuds/Syllis). 



> This is in response to the May 2019 prompt challenge on r/fanfiction https://www.reddit.com/r/FanFiction/comments/bjeim2/prompts_challenge_round_14_may/.
> 
> What did I get as a prompt for Skyrim?
> 
> Big Brother is Watching: https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/BigBrotherIsWatching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters are set in time after the events of Golden Knight.

"Yes," I explained, patiently. "Four large trays of sand. Oh-- wait. And also some larger bags of fresh sand. Several of those."

Marcus just looked at me. "That's crazy," he said. "Do you really think I'm going to do that?" 

Marcus frowned at me, and scratched at his neck, which was dirty. What had he been doing earlier? Rooting around in some noisome ancient tomb or roistering in some alley, without a doubt. I was annoyed. What I'd asked was certainly well within Marcus' capabilities.

"Did I or did I not assist you in coaxing that old fool up out of the Ratway?" I asked, severely. That had taken some doing. I was still answering queries from the Thalmor about my equipment request. We hadn't recovered all of that armor.

Marcus mumbled something under his breath, and said: "Just tell me what it's for."

I took offense: "You know I can't do that. This isn't how it works. Did I question you, when you told me you needed twenty armored soldiers to reduce a Forsworn city? No. I did not. I just went and called in a favor." 

Marcus crossed his arms: "Delphine nearly had a heart seizure."

I suppose it had been a bit rousing for the two so-called Blades when the Thalmor had showed up, but we'd gotten the job done. 

I'll be indebted to Ondolemar till the Day comes that we ascend to Aetherius, but I reckon that to be his problem, not mine. Thankfully, Ondolemar's no student of history and he believed us when we said that the trembling old man and the sobbing innkeeper were merely grief-stricken locals who'd brought the villainous encampment to our attention. Either that or he did not care. The Reach is a mess. Ondolemar takes whatever opportunity he can to kill Forsworn, now that the orders have come down that we are now supposed to be suppressing them. Rather than supporting them. 

Never start an insurgency that you can't control, is the lesson to be learned here.

Speaking of which. 

I brooded over my irrecoverable asset. Ulfric Stormcloak had proved to be rather stubborn. He has no respect whatsoever for the reach of the Thalmor. When last we met, I advised him that the Thalmor were reclaiming him. That we would be closely monitoring in future. That we would have certain directives-- Ulfric's response had been to have me trussed up and left at Boethiah's ritual altar like a sack of dung. So. This.

I was equally tired of Marcus being so uncooperative. My request hadn't been all that unreasonable. He was still sitting there, pouting.

"Are we giving up on our little project of ridding Nirn of these dragons and ending this preposterous war?" I demanded. "Tell me now, and I'll go back to my magickal studies. I promised Master Colette I'd finish the next chapter by Morndas."

"What kinda boxes?" Ahtar interrupted, before we could devolve further into acrimony. He got up and went to the bookshelf, drawing out a few volumes so I could lay them down on the rug to demonstrate the approximate dimensions that I needed.

"Large, flat, shallow boxes," I told him. "Perhaps a hand's length high? And full of sand, to at least a hand's width." I frowned at Marcus. "A Nord's handwidth," I added. "Not yours."

Marcus gave me a look.

Alfgar the Dovahkiin broke in with some more technical questions. 

After some discussion, we determined that the Dovahkiin had access to areas of the Palace of the Kings that we did not; and that he would be able to assemble the boxes on-site without generating too much suspicion. He's known for several hobbies, one of which is experimental agriculture. The sand itself and the wood could easily be explained away if Marcus were caught bringing them in-- large stone palaces are continually under repair. 

Were these wizarding boxes, the Dovahkiin wanted to know; or would they be used to further some violent act of destruction or contagion-- the Palace of the Kings was his clan's home, and the man WAS kin, after all.

I quelled all of this nonsense. 

"No," I said, patiently. "These will be just ordinary boxes with ordinary sand... might get a bit smelly." I frowned. "Alfgar, do you think you can get a-- a worker who isn't likely to be asking many questions? You can say he's a gardener or something. For the boxes."

The Dovhakiin allowed that this was possible.

Marcus wanted to know, was that _all_ that I needed. He didn't need to roll his eyes at me that way. 

"Yes," I said. "No! Wait. I almost forgot. I need at least forty large live sewer rats." I rubbed my chin. "To start with, I mean," I said. And: "No, not skeevers. Rats."


	2. Chapter 2

Marcus flung himself into a chair.

"This is absolutely the last time I do any favors for you," he said, bitterly. 

i smiled: "Come now, you can't tell me that wasn't a lot of fun."

"Fun, yeah." Marcus pushed a hand across his head to dislodge his cap and false braid, and shook his forelock loose. It fell around his face in outraged curls. "I kept thinking I was gonna be like that kid in the orc story, the one who had the fox eat through his belly." He shuddered bodily. "Awful."

While our initial infiltration of vermin into the Palace of the Kings had been successful, nothing but silence had obtained. So I had sent Marcus in again, this time in the guise of a servant-maid, to ensure that the higher-ups would take a keener personal interest in eliminating this menace.

"So-- is this the kind of thing that Justiciars train for?" Marcus wanted to know. He smirked. " _This_ is what your spies do?"

"No," I said, annoyed. I got up to go sit on the broad hearthstone, and motioned at him, impatiently. "I've told you all about the training-- it's rather rigorous. Stop messing around with that apron, won't you-- it's ruined and you'll just get your hands filthy. Filthier. Hand it over. Give me all the rest of that stuff." I chucked it into the fire, together with the cap and woolen braid, pushing all of it deeper into the coals to ignite. No sense leaving evidence about.

Marcus coughed at the suddenly-acrid smoke: "Did a pretty job of planning it all out," he allowed.

"Almost two decades spent at boarding school," I said. I reached into his traveling pack and tossed shirt and trews up to him. "My sister Elenwen's of the opinion that it did me no good at all, but--" I shook the folds out of his tunic. "I notice she hasn't been able to recover her asset. So maybe she's wrong. All that superlatively expensive education served some use. Hurry up and get changed; I want to go get a drink."

Marcus popped his head up through the neck of the shirt and looked at me, quizzically: "I thought you would want to stay here and write one of those, um--"

"After-action reports?" I laughed. "Do you really think I'm going to commit any of this to paper? Just pray I don't get called back for debriefing before this is over." Infiltrating rats into the would-be High King of Skyrim's unmentionables-drawer was hardly worthy of the dignitas of a Justiciar. But it would certainly get his attention. And--

"Even if it doesn't work," I said to Marcus, cheerfully. "It's going to make me feel better." 

I looked at the sheet of figures that he had given me. "At least until the First Emissary receives my expense report." He might have said something, but I paid it no heed. I was reviewing his numbers more closely: "I think you're buying," I said.


	3. Chapter 3

Niranye frowned, thoughtfully. She straightened up from where she'd been leaning on her counter, and set a broken-quillioned dagger aside. 

"Now that's an interesting request," she said. "Don't hear that one every day. Is it getting really bad?" 

Galmar Stone-Fist sighed. Niranye could see that that the Nord housecarl was not comfortable being out in the market trying to dicker with one of the knife-ears--but it was Niranye or Sadri's Used Wares if one wanted to look for unusual merchandise-- and Galmar was not known for his love of the Grey Quarter. 

"The early thaw," he said. "That's what the jarl's wizard says. He's been trying to brew up poison, and the jarl has put a bounty out on rat tails, but--"

"They seem to be everywhere this year," she commiserated. "I have a few traps in stock, but there's been a pretty high demand."

"Not really enough," said Galmar. "Do you know of any other merchants who might be willing to sell a few dogs? Terriers, or hunting-hounds?"

Niranye laughed. "That would be up to your thanes and smallholders," she said. "I can't think of anyone who has what you seek. On the other hand..." Her voice trailed off. She shrugged, as if she had discounted the idea. 

"What?"

"Never mind," she said. "It was just a thought. But-- most farms have cats, don't they? I suppose I could have a couple of my buyers round up some barn cats, if you're interested. They shouldn't cost much. Arivanya was complaining just the other day that they had too many kittens."

Galmar was interested: "Can cats be effective against these creatures? They're vicious. My little Helgi cornered one in the wardrobe the other day, and it nearly bit her. I had to kill it with a broom."

"That's what we use back home on the Isles," Niranye said. "Abecean Ratter cats, by preference. But any can do the job. Dogs aren't so much a thing. You have to feed dogs. Cats-- cats can look after themselves."

Galmar was nodding. "The jarl wants something done," he said.


	4. Chapter 4

"No," I said, patiently. "There will be nothing at all that can come back on you. This is a stable; you have cats. It is the right season of the year for kittening; ergo you have too many cats. All that we ask is that when the Stormcloaks come calling from the Palace, that you sell them about four or five of the fully mature beasts. I'm sure you have a few young tomcats you don't need?"

Arivanya asked another question.

"Absolutely not," I said at once. "I said to sell them barn cats, and that's what I meant. They'll be your own cats, not any--" 

I frowned, and tried to think of a better choice of words. 

"Not anything special about them," I finished. "Do you have any that you think will be good versus rats?"

"What's this?" said her husband, coming up rather suddenly. Ulundil is naturally a good-natured fellow, but he was reacting to the apprehension in her voice.

I turned to him and displayed my credential.

He went absolutely, deathly silent.

But Ulundil is made of stouter stuff than his wife. He looked up to meet my gaze and said: "So. Is this another one of those Thalmor mandates? Because we are no longer citizens of Alinor, and you hold no jurisdiction over us. I do not even see why we need to continue to submit to these inspections."

"Please," I said. "You know the rules. I don't care if it's a Stormcloak in charge of a so-called independent Eastmarch or a pink-scaled Argonian; you're still up for review every six months just like everyone else." 

This did not settle Ulundil; in fact, he drew in his breath, to steel himself. 

Smoothly, I went on: "In any event, I did not come here to relay orders. This is merely an offer. If you can accomplish this small task for us, I can give you two years, before you need to speak to one of us again." 

Two years before they would be up for review again by the doctrinal authorities. We maintain close tabs on our expatriates, given our history. Ulundil stared me down, his white-fingered hand still gripping the handle of his pitchfork. I began to like this mer. He had courage. There was potential here.

"Seven," he said, roughly.

We settled on five.


	5. Chapter 5

Erdi exclaimed in surprise when she saw me with two cats on my lap, purring away and shedding all over my blacks.

"I thought you were meeting with your agents this afternoon!" she said, smiling.

"Hm?" I said to her. "Oh, I am." I bent my stern gaze onto the grey tabby on my lap:

"Report," I directed, sternly.

The little cat climbed up my chest and put one emphatic paw over my mouth. The brindle-brown huffed annoyance, and turned around in my lap to begin vigorously grooming her undercarriage. 

So much for coming the Justiciar at them; they didn't care.

Erdi smothered laughter and set down her burden: goblets and cups and saucers and a pitcher full of our sweet cold well-water. 

"I'll go back down and get your writing-box and some refreshments," she said. "Since you appear--um!-- to be occupied at present. Do you want me to tell everyone you'll be meeting with them up here?" 

"Thanks," I said. "It'll be just three: Kharjo and two others you haven't met yet. They're getting the horses put up, and I think he said they wanted to go to the baths?" I resettled my weight in the chair, but didn't bother brushing off any of the cat hair. It would simply re-accumulate. "That's where our friends here come from. I promised to keep them company for the others while they're getting situated."

Erdi laughed. "I got some fresh slaughterfish on ice," she said. "I'll bring it up. I think it's really sweet that your agents travel with kitties." She scritched the brindle under the chin, to hear her rising purr. The grey tabby was wending its way around her legs, tail high, competing for the attention

"Oh, you know," I said. "Just adding to the verisimilitude-- harmless traders. Cute little pets. Makes them seem more approachable."

As soon as Erdi was out of the room, I put a saucer on the floor and poured some of the water out for my agents.

Daroshizar immediately went to go drink, dipping her paw into the water and slurping it up.

"Thjiziit," growled Puniraila, the moment my door was shut. Her ears were laced back. _*Idiot,*_ she meant.

Puniraila's mouth allows here to approximate a few words in Ta'agra, but not much. Daroshizar cannot speak at all. For anything much more serious than this, we were going to have to wait for our translator.

"Kaaka?" I said to her, in mock anger, spreading my hands. "Va ahziss alsoh bishu pa?" _*What? Is this one not permitted a little fun?*_

"Jer vara ma'i," Puniraila sniffed, with an irritated flick of her tail: _*Childish*_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta'agra courtesy of The Ta'agra Project. https://www.taagra.com/index.php
> 
> Any errors are mine.


	6. Chapter 6

Kharjo, who is rather courtly, took his time presenting his Alfiq elders to me; the two of them sat up regally, and preened. Really, Kharjo should hire himself out as a boaster for holdmoots; he would do excellently well for coin, these Nord warriors would be falling all over themselves to hear him cry their deeds. Once Kharjo was done orating, he took his leave, to take up a watchpost for us out on the street. He is one of Ri'saad's sellswords, and Thalmor business is not for Ri'saad to know. 

Senindro excused himself to sit in the hallway. Our upstairs room isn't very large, and myself, a Cathay, and two seeming-housecats were already making it seem rather crowded.

Puniraila's son, Ri'sahar-- the Cathay--was present to serve as our interpreter.

Daroshizar hopped up into Ri'sahar's lap. His gaze went just a little blank as he attuned to her, and we began.

First, the tedious honorifics: praise was lavished upon me for being the foster grandson of the lady-who-sang-the-moons back into existence; and where in return I recognized the glorious exploits of our feline-kin who can walk through walls and hear the whispers of-- finally we got down to work.

After about half an hour I had maps drawn to my satisfaction of the private quarters which lie above the throne room of the Palace of the Kings; the briefing room, Ulfric Stormcloak's formal office; and the small room in which he actually does all of his work. We were able to identify seven Alfiq-sized hidey-holes from which virtually all of the business of the Stormcloak militia could be overheard. There were four sunning-spots which were also ideal for listening.

"That's not bad," I said, looking over our preliminary assignment rota. It looked like we would have enough personnel to cover each of these areas in shifts for the day and evening hours. We would have a floater make rounds at night. "But what about the jarl's private quarters?" I asked.

 _There is no sense_ , Daroshizar said, _in maintaining an agent in Ulfric's bedroom; nothing of interest goes on there_. 

Ri'sahar conveyed Daroshizar's dry wit precisely. As he did, the little brindle Illusion mage gave a little sneeze, to punctuate her own words. Puniralia made raspy noises of her own, evidently chuckling.

"Let's move on," I said, hastily.

We set up three dead drops and the bird-relay, as well as a couple of redundant message systems-- I was loathe to use Niranye again unless it were absolutely necessary-- and then Daroshizar voiced a tentative suggestion:

Galmar's small daughter Helgi is rather fond of cats. Could we perhaps make use of this?


	7. Chapter 7

"Daddy?" The golden-haired little girl had a fierce grip around the middle of a grey tabby cat, which she had swaddled in an embroidered garment. The cat hung limp from her arms, resigned to its fate.

"Shh," said Galmar Stone-Fist, greatly amused. "Come sit if you want to watch us moot, but no talking, all right?" He chuckled. "Is that Bernina's good dress?" he asked.

Helgi nodded silently, letting go of the cat as her father picked her up into his lap.

The cat slipped free of the little girl's clutches and clambered awkwardly up onto the table, trailing the dress behind it. This prompted a general exclamation. But the little beast did nothing more than sit on its haunches and bring its cool gaze to bear on the map.

"Hey, Galmar," said Yrsarald. "Your new lady-friend's got better dress-sense than the last one did."

"Hnh," said the housecarl. "Look at that cat studying that map-- it's a better strategist than you, Thrice-Pierced."


	8. Chapter 8

"What bothers me about all of this is that it's absolutely unnecessary," said Marcus. He was dressed as a courier, the emblem of the snarling bear on his Stormcloak-blue baldric and pouch. His dark hair was concealed again, this time beneath a woolen hood; his beard cropped to the sort of patchy awfulness that only a Nord youth can muster. "The Dovahkiin would tell you every single thing you wanted to know. He sits right there in the Great Hall and eats his dinner with Ulfric and his generals. Every night he's in Windhelm."

Alfgar the Dovahkiin grumbled something, and the floor shook, just a bit. I touched my cup to stop it from trembling, and he shrugged apology.

"Do you think that Galmar Stone-Fist wouldn't be able to put that together?" I said. "One day, they talk about their new postings in front of Ulfric's own cousin; the next ta-da! The Thalmor show up. No." I said. "Even Nords could figure that out." I took another large bite of the jam-filled pastry, and wiped my chin. "We'll use our own informants, thanks." 

Marcus didn't understand.

I smiled. "We're only going to be using information which the Dovahkiin demonstrably could not know." 

The Dovakiin was often gone from court for his own reasons, on the track of dragons. 

"We can't risk the rest of the Stormcloaks questioning his loyalty," I said. Or discovering his affiliation with my household. 

Alfgar's quick eye-roll I took to mean: _I am loyal._

And he certainly was. To the Stormcloak cause, if not to his cousin Ulfric's stubborn idiosyncrasies. The Dovahkiin wanted to see this war won, and quickly. So did I, towards my own purposes, and just as quickly; the conflicting orders of the Thalmor notwithstanding. Hence our alliance.

We had a map of the southern part of Eastmarch unrolled before us. I wiped jam-and-crumbs from my fingers, and tapped it. "There," I said, still chewing.

Alfgar the Dovahkiin frowned at the map. Then he looked at me, shaking his head a little.

"He doesn't agree," said Marcus, immediately. "Says the cats probably have it wrong."

"I got that," I said. "Thanks." 

Our Dovahkiin is a bit like the Alfiq in a way; their mouth parts do not permit them to voice our words, even words in Ta'agra. Alfgar has learnt so much of the Dragon tongue that it has seeped into his everyday language and he is now like one of the Greybeards: If he asks you to pass the salt, he might shatter the crockery. So he has learned a pantomime of sorts. And, of course, he has Marcus to speak for him.

I followed the course of the river with my finger, and looked again at the lay of the nearby mountains. There are hotsprings in southern Eastmarch, but none in that vicinity.

"I see what you're saying," I told the Dovahkiin. "It'd be a dry camp. So if he's bringing down all those men, he's probably going to set up in that vicinity, but much closer to the water. We'll have to scout. How many days from here?"

Three or four, was the indication.

"Well, we're already packed," I said, rising. "We can get half a day on the road before we have to stop. Might as well get going."


	9. Chapter 9

"Good morning, Jarl Ulfric," I enthused.

One bleary eye cracked open.

Then Ulfric sat up with a curse.

I snapped my fingers and the muffle/immobilize spell held him fast. Ulfric's gaze promised blue murder.

"There you are," I said, cheerfully, unfolding the promissory note one-handed so that he could see its numerals, and then carefully tucking it beneath his pillow. "That should keep all of you people fed through next Frostfall or so." I smoothed the wrinkles from his clumsily-embroidered pillowcase with my hand. "When you go to cash it-- assuming you care to cash it--I'd recommend Blacklight. Raven Rock's having some issues, these days."

Ulfric continued to glare at me.

"Now," I said, smiling. "Let's review: It doesn't matter what precautions you think you are taking." I gestured at his barren little tent, no different from the rest of his warriors; his only luxury here being that pillow. "In your palace, in your camp-- wherever it is you go--The Thalmor are still here, and you will never, ever be free of us."

Ulfric tried to say something-- the muffle spell caught it.

I leaned closer. "You only think you are directing your own actions, Hoagssen. Remember that." I smiled again, to show more teeth: 

"As our good First Emissary says: I've got my eye on you."


End file.
